The Only Shirt You'll Ever Pack

If God's blessed you with nipples of steel, then this is the shirt for you.

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Once, I spent a week traveling through three continents with a wise old man who had many things to say about literature, history, and politics. He also had a thing to say about traveling light, carrying just a small nylon gym bag the entire trip. By the fourth or fifth day, I began to wonder about something that seemed far more important and compelling than literature, history, or politics: How come his goddamn shirt never got wrinkled? Was it an old-man thing? A lack of youthful restlessness, no shifting in the airplane seat, no bending over to pick stuff up?

When we got back, I went straight to the L.L. Bean Website and bought one for $29.50 -- blue, just like his. I also sprung for the wrinkle-resistant classic oxford-cloth university stripe shirt ($34.50), now my favorite shirt in the world.

If you're the kind of guy who goes to an Italian tailor who makes shirts out of the ass hairs of the endangered Mongolian truffle goat, like certain editors of this magazine, then obviously the L.L. Bean wrinkle-resistant shirt is not for you. It's thick and a bit stiff and not the greatest thing for a hot summer day. When I put it on, I always say a little prayer of gratitude that I'm not cursed (like certain editors of this magazine) with extremely sensitive nipples. But I travel rough and never know whether I'm going to be bouncing in the back of a truck or on some starlet's pashmina-covered ottoman. A versatile man needs a versatile shirt.

I have worn the damn thing day after day until even I am disgusted. Unless I actually spill something on it, it keeps on looking like I just took it off the hanger. This isn't a shirt. It's armor. Buy one for your next crusade.